A day after Kate and her captors, Benson and Crow, landed in Banos, they took off in a less dependable aircraft, her daughter hidden away from her, no clue where they'd stashed her since landing. But she knew what she had to do to save her. The daunting challenge seemed impossible, but a mother would do anything for her child, even kill if deemed necessary.
Kate slipped her arms into the straps of the parachute pack as Crow slid open the side door of the rickety little plane, allowing blustery winds free rein inside the fuselage. Benson had coached her to jump, count to five Mississippi, and pull the ripcord. Preposterous. That sounded like splendid advice for anyone but her. They told her to expect a smooth ride through the clouds and a non-eventful touch down among the clutter of tightly woven treetops. She pictured a blazing fall through the heavens to a bone crushing death on the side of a rocky cliff face. Definitely not an optimistic outlook about her present situation.
Of deep concern as well, the sight of Tom Logan unconscious with a parachute of his own, the metal floor vibrating beneath him, engines rumbling, choking down aviation fuel through its aging cylinders.
The aircraft sputtered through a pristine blue sky, propellers buzzing on each wing, slicing through the air, transporting them to the drop zone. Beneath the mustard-colored belly of the plane awaited a conglomeration of treacherous mountain ranges, rain forests thick with tropical vegetation, and rivers meandering for miles to the edge of the horizon.
Benson, she learned, wore the tailored black suit with all the accessories more often than not, as if he just walked out of the finest New York department store. But factoring in the humidity and heat of the jungle, he shed his jacket, vest, and tie for a business causal look, top button undone. However, his shoes still reflected a glare of sunlight through the dingy and scratched up windows. He stared at Kate with cold, emotionless eyes, the gusty winds of no effect on his closely trimmed walnut hair.
Kate pondered how she fell into their trap.
Of course—Benson stole her gold pocket watch—that's how. He told her later that he wanted to confirm her identity at her doorstep, but Kate believed he enjoyed the game of predator and prey as if she was a gazelle and he was the clever lion. Earlier that day, he infiltrated her office at the museum and fabricated a key with a mold of some kind from her ring on her desk. This enabled his associate, Crow, to waltz into her flat and wait for her to enter.
Benson referred to his partner as Crow, possibly because of the way the man's black hair rose high in the front and coursed down the back of his neck to his collar. A dull scar ran horizontal across the middle of his throat, testament to the man's unwillingness to die.
Crow did the dirty work for Benson. He dragged Tom closer to the plane's open door and waited for the order to fling him into oblivion.
YOU ARE READING
GOLD RIVER (Book 1)
AdventureA retired treasure hunter with gold in his veins. A museum curator's daughter held for ransom. A jungle trail with danger at every turn. Determined to walk away from his old path, Tom Logan chooses a quiet existence on a Texas ranch. But everything...
